


Guard, Lunge, Parry

by sushishin



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: (just the teensiest bit), Gen, Mildly incorrect definitions of swordfighting terms, Minor Gwen/Leon (Merlin), POV Gwen (Merlin), Pre-Canon, Sword dropping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:14:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29085210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sushishin/pseuds/sushishin
Summary: “You won’t be fighting,” Elyan says imperiously. “That’s way too dangerous.”“I’m not a baby!” Gwen is thirteen, now, she’s almost full grown, and Elyan had promised...“Ma would kill me if you got hurt.”“I won’t get hurt if you teach me properly,” she says. “And it’s my birthday. I get to do what I want. Please?”Elyan teaches Gwen how to swordfight (and maybe a couple of other things, too).
Relationships: Elyan & Gwen (Merlin)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12
Collections: Gwen Fest





	Guard, Lunge, Parry

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Gwen Fest, Week 4: Family (Sibling time)
> 
> Thank you to the mods for organising this fest! It’s been amazing seeing new Gwen-centric fics.

_ Front Guard: A defensive position; hold the sword vertically in front of your face.  _

Gwen wakes, and scrambles out of bed immediately. There’s a pleasant scent wafting through the air; she traces it to the posy of purple flowers set in a new vase, right in the middle of the dining table. Gwen runs into a chair; she can’t take her eyes off them. They’re _beautiful_. Lavender, wisteria… is that foxglove? 

A quiet laugh. “I’m glad you like them,” Ma says, “They’re just for you.” Gwen’s almost too big now, to be picked up, but Ma hugs her waist and swings Gwen around in a circle anyway. “Happy birthday!” 

Pa’s waiting just behind Ma, arms wide open. “Oof! Happy birthday, Guinevere,” he says, as she runs at him. “We’ve got a surprise for you later.”

“We know you have a big day ahead of you, though,” Ma says, as she tucks a sprig of wisteria in her collar. “Go on. Be back for supper.”

She needs to find Elyan. _Next year_ , she remembers him saying, _I’ll teach you next year_. She’d said that he’d better, or she was going to ask Leon. _He’s the son of a knight, you know. Maybe he’d be a better teacher..._

Gwen’s been looking forward to this for forever. Finally, finally, _finally_ , she will learn how to swordfight. She finds Elyan in the workshop, hammering at some horseshoes. “Happy birthday, Gwennie,” he yells, barely sparing the time to shuck his gloves before throwing his arms around her. 

She grins at him, then makes a show of wrinkling her nose. “Ew, Elyan, you reek.”

He raises his arm to shove her, then visibly holds back. “I’ll let that slide, just for today.”

She grins at him. “So…” 

“Yeah, I know what you’re going to ask.”

“Well, then, come on! Teach me.”

He raises his hands, takes a step back. “Alright! But I can’t teach you here.”

Gwen turns her head, looks around at the forge and the furnace, makes a show of it. “Oh?”

“Shh. And - we’re going to use wooden swords, to start with.”

“Obviously.”

He casts his eyes about, then finally: “You won’t be fighting,” Elyan says imperiously. “It’s way too dangerous.”

“I’m not a baby!” Gwen is thirteen, now, she’s almost full grown, and Elyan had promised…

“Ma would kill me if you got hurt.”

“I won’t get hurt if you teach me properly,” she says. “And it’s my birthday. I get to do what I want. Please?”

Elyan sighs. “I guess I promised.”

He takes Gwen past lower town, out of Camelot’s gates and into the forest. They walk for a time, in silence, Gwen practically shivering with excitement, until Elyan finds a clearing. He stops, then turns abruptly and throws one of the wooden swords at her. 

She catches it, fumbling only slightly, but still - “Hey!”

Elyan says he was just testing her reflexes. Ugh. And then they begin. It’s not as exciting as she’d thought: first, there’s the stances, and _there’s so many of them_. 

“So we’re just going to stand here?” 

“If you can’t take this seriously - ” She glares at him. “Well this one’s important. It’s a guard stance, keeps you defended while you watch for your opponent to do something. It keeps you open for many other stances, depending on what they do.”

A few months later, someone stops her as she’s delivering a sword to Sir Bors.

“You! Hand that over.” The boy has barely a year on her… but the knife in his hand glints in the sun. He’s brandishing it almost wildly. 

She takes a breath. This is okay. Elyan’s only taught her a couple of stances, and she’s only been using a wooden sword so far, but the boy looks nervous. She doesn’t give herself time for doubt. 

Gwen draws the sword.

He blanches, eyes almost comically wide. “Aw, wait, no, this is not - ”

“Well, come on then,” she taunts, her heart pounding. 

He keeps his eye on the sword and takes a step back, slashing at the air. “I don’t want any trouble.” 

“Neither do I.” Gwen holds the guard stance, the weight of the metal sword straining her arms. She doesn’t let the blade waver.

He drops the knife with a clatter, and bolts. 

Well. 

Maybe she should learn how to fight with a knife, too.   
  


_ Lunge: Leap forwards, and keep your feet in the same orientation.  _

Elyan’s been working more and more with Pa, and Gwen’s busy herself; she’s fifteen, and has a serving position at the castle, now. But they still find time, sometimes, for a sword fighting lesson, and last year Pa even made Gwen her own sword. 

It’s her sword that she drops to the grass as she puts her hands on her knees, and pants. 

“That was good,” says Elyan. “But next time, just go for it. I saw you hesitate that last lunge.”

They drop by the apothecary on the way home - Ma’s sick again - and run into Leon at the door. It’s a quick exchange, just the pleasantries, really, but Gwen can’t suppress her giggle when Leon turns his gaze to her. His eyes are really very blue. _He’s just saying hello._

Elyan is annoyingly observant. He waits until they’re home, then leans against the door and huffs out a laugh. “ _Leon?_ ” 

Gwen folds her arms and stares at a whorl in the wood of the door, just above Elyan’s right ear. “So what?” Leon’s lovely to her, and to everyone. He’s kind, he seems serious but he definitely has a sense of humour, and when he laughs, she feels like she’s full of light. 

And, well, he’s really cute. 

“How long?”

“It is nothing.” She’s not going to tell him anything.

Months ago, Gwen had noticed someone leaving the bakery, gorgeous curls flopping into their face, and it was only when he looked up and waved, that she realised it was _Leon_. She can’t un-notice him now. If only she can stop inventing increasingly more convoluted reasons to wander down to the training grounds, where Leon can usually be found, hurrying behind Sir Bedivere… 

“Nothing.” Elyan works his jaw, not meeting her eyes. “Look.”

“We don’t need to talk about this.” She really doesn’t want to talk about this - least of all to her older brother. 

Elyan struggles on without hearing her. “Are you - er - going to do something about it?”

“What?”

“Listen - as a - a guy - ”

“Please stop.” But it’s like a wheel that’s fallen off a cart: it’s rolling away, long gone, and all you can do is watch as the whole cart tips over. 

“If you want him to - er - notice you, you should do something.” 

She _is_. She smiles at Leon, and talks to him, and stands just a bit close. “Like what?”

“I mean, just - tell him.” 

_“Just tell him?”_

“The poor guy is never going to work it out, otherwise.” His hands tap restlessly on the door. 

“How do you know - ”

“Just trust me.” 

She furrows her brow, but doesn’t press. This conversation is strange enough as is. “Right. Are you done, now?”

He is. Gwen shakes her head as Elyan slips back out the door, mumbling some excuse. _Tell Leon?_ She will do no such thing; even the thought of doing so turns her stomach. 

Yet somehow, Elyan’s words burrow themselves into her head. The next time she passes by Leon in the halls, instead of just nodding, she inexplicably steps closer and lays a hand on his arm. 

“So, Leon,” she starts, then stops. _What is she doing? Well - no going back._ In a rush: “Would you like to go - ”

Leon tenses. “Guinevere?” His eyes flick to her hand, and she jumps backwards. 

“Sorry!” _Why did she ever listen to Elyan?_

“No, it’s um - fine. It’s just that, I’m - um - busy.” Is that sweat, beading on his forehead?

“Busy.”

“Yes.” He shrugs, and supposedly tries to smile at her. It comes out more like a grimace. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” she murmurs. What else can she say? “Don’t worry about it." 

She’s not exactly going to thank Elyan, but at least she knows for sure where she stands with Leon: as friends. 

In time, Gwen knows she’ll be content with that. 

  
  


_ Parry: Hit the opponent’s blade to knock it away from its target _

It’s the talk of the castle. “The Lady Morgana’s looking for a personal handmaid,” says Ada. “Will you go for it?” They’re working side by side in the laundry, scrubbing the tablecloths from last night. It had gotten rather rowdy at the feast; a lot of wine had been spilled by the knights. 

Gwen laughs. “I’ve only been working here for two years!” 

“I think it would be nice,” says Ada. Her sleeves have been rolled up past her elbows, but they are still getting soaked with the suds. Gwen wishes her the best of luck; Lady Morgana is the King’s ward, so being her handmaid is a senior role. It _would_ be really nice, though. 

Elyan thinks she should go for it. 

“Gwen,” says Elyan. “You need to go for it.”

“No, I don’t.”

Elyan rolls his eyes. “Fine, you don’t need to, but you _should_.”

“I’m only seventeen!”

“So? Isn’t it all the same thing, anyway? What are you going to be doing that’s so special?” In truth, the duties will not be that different. All of her tasks would be centred around Lady Morgana, but that makes it all the more predictable. “You know you can do it,” he insists. “What are you worried about?”

It’s nothing that she can articulate; just a sense of being not good enough: _I am just a blacksmith’s daughter, no lady’s maid._

She thinks on it in bed. She has to turn her back to Elyan - he doesn’t seem to feel the need to sleep; every time she cracks open an eye, he nods at her encouragingly from across the room. _I have not yet been at the castle long enough for such an honour._ At the same time, it wouldn’t hurt to just put her name forward… and if she somehow manages to get it… well.

The next morning, Gwen finds herself putting on her newest dress: the purple one, with her mother’s careful embroidery, and braiding her hair carefully. She forces herself not to shiver as she heads up to the castle, and asks to speak to the steward about Lady Morgana. His eyes flick briefly over her, and he must find something to approve of, because he nods. “You will need to speak to Lady Morgana herself,” he says, “She is on the practice field at the moment.”

She stiffens. _Just - just walk up to Lady Morgana?_

The corner of his mouth lifts in a slight smile. “I will accompany you, of course.”

Lady Morgana was indeed on the practice field, dressed in a shirt of light maille; her back facing them as she fought a knight - _is that Leon?_

Leon spots them as they approach. “Lady Morgana, the steward wishes to speak with you.” 

Lady Morgana spares them a glance. “I will be with you in a moment.” She turns back to Leon, and her grin is fierce. “Let us finish our fight, first.”

It is clear, however, that Lady Morgana is tiring; her moves grow increasingly more predictable. Leon seems hesitant to press his advantage, which seems to cause her to commit to more wild attacks, which he easily deflects. It’s not a painful fight to watch, by any means, but Gwen knows where this is heading. It would be preferable for Lady Morgana to be in a good mood for their meeting… and there is an abandoned sword at her feet.

Gwen stoops, and picks up the sword. It’s comfortable in her hand; not as familiar as her own sword, but she can definitely still wield it. 

She comes at Leon from the left. 

“ _Guinevere?_ ” Leon barely brings his sword up in time to parry; she steps back, then lunges and thrusts her sword forward. Out of the corner of her eye, Lady Morgana seems revitalised; she throws herself into another attack. 

Eventually, Leon drops his sword in surrender. 

“Thank you, Guinevere,” says Lady Morgana. “What is it you have come to speak to me about?”

“My lady,” says Gwen, “I hope you will consider me for the position of your personal handmaid.”

Morgana throws her head back and laughs. “Consider it yours,” she says. “I would have no other.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are always much appreciated :)


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